


The Last Conversation

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	The Last Conversation

The TV was just static by the time someone entered in the jail. Arthur could hear them moving around in the empty building, slamming their way into the front door, making strange noises that might be moving furniture, issuing some loud bangs that reverberated through the place in a way made possible only by the lack of other human inhabitants, and then slowly working their way to the back. He gave up on his current attempt to reach the keys and retreated to under the bed, tucked into a cleverly cast shadow, just in case it was a visitor he didn't want to meet. There was a 50/50 chance it was Eames. Those were good odds to a man trained in dreamshare, zombie apocalypse notwithstanding. 

The visitor shuffled to a stop, rustled about a bit - Arthur could hear him jingling keys - and finally said, "darling?" in a croaky voice. 

Arthur rolled out. Eames was standing in front of the cell doors with a funny expression on his face. "There you are." 

"Job's off I suppose." Arthur told him, with a tight smile. "Called on account of zombies." 

"All your hard work for naught, pet." 

"And a night spent in jail." 

"Mmmmm." Eames twisted the key, let him out, and locked himself in as if he did it every day, tossing Arthur the keys. He caught them automatically. "I'm afraid it may have been the safest place for you." 

In the moments it took for Arthur to say "What the hell?", Eames shrugged off the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing, displaying his tattoos and a vivid bite on his arm. He turned and sat heavily on the bed, like a drunk finally sober enough to realize where he was. 

"Darling." Eames said to his hands. "I've barricaded the front door and the back. They don't…seem very intelligent. Mostly entering places by brute force, I think. This place is empty. I've…seen to that." 

The last admission spoke volumes. The jail had emptied over the course of the night, most everyone released on bond except for Arthur, and then officer after officer run out either on an emergency call, or, finally, just abandoning their posts. The last to leave the holding area was a lanky black officer, who'd thrown the keys toward Arthur's cell with a brief "sorry", and then he was gone, his shitty pitch leaving the keys out of reach and Arthur stuck in a fucking _jail_ while fucking _zombies_ ravaged the fucking _city_. 

Arthur had heard others moving around over the course of the night, but paranoia had served him well in life, he did not call for help. Apparently that had been a smart move. He tried to imagine what it would be like ringed in by those _creatures_ while locked in a jail cell, and shuddered. 

"There's vending machines with food, and I ransacked a convenience store on my way in, you'll find the bag by the main entrance. I didn't know how much time…" He rubbed his hands in his hair, cleared his throat, and looked up at Arthur finally, meeting his eyes. "You've got rations for at least a couple weeks. You can wait out the worst here. They decompose normally, I think. Or at least, that's what it looks like." 

Arthur found his voice. "Eames." 

"I'm sorry I have to ask you for this, Arthur, truly." He looked to Arthur's right, to the holding officer's desk, where a gun now lay. 

He went to his knees, hands reaching for the bars. "Please tell me you didn't get this coming to break me out." 

"No, darling." Eames went down on his own knees, hands up as if praying to him. "Don't think things like that. Darling. I was still at that damn club and it spread like wildfire. I got clipped on my way out, is all." He rubbed at his lips. "Somnacin dependency seems to delay onset a little bit. I made good use of my time, is all." 

Eames pronounced _clipped_ like he'd suffered a gunshot, like it was something he'd recover from. But it wasn't. 

"All those terrible movies you made me watch, and I still didn't figure it out until too late." 

"Romero was a genius-" Arthur said without thinking. 

Eames laughed gently. "Thank you, darling. For everything. For _everything_." 

He stretched out on the floor, and dug in his pocket. Tossed Arthur the chip he found there. "For luck." 

They waited together, talking of inanities, until the time came. It wasn't that long. It was also forever. 

And because Arthur really was the best at compartmentalizing, proven over and over again, in all the places they'd served together, extracted together, spent the sum total of their lives together, joined at the hip for so long, so stupidly long without saying _love_ out loud once in all that time, waiting until the last five minutes to say the most important words two people could, but Eames was right, wasn't he, they'd been saying it all along in their own ways, Arthur put his head down and drew a deep breath, then stepped forward, aimed, and fired at the thing that killed the one man he'd loved his whole adult life. 

The shot reverberated in the empty hall, loud and heavy as his coming grief, and Arthur knew, in the marrow of his bones and all the secret places of his heart, that Eames would never wake up.


End file.
